For Athens and Austerity
This January, I spent a week in Greece, first in Athens, and then Santorini. It was my first time traveling without family, to a non-English speaking country. The balmy waters and pretty-as-a-postcard views won us over, when we were planning where to go, to wait out the winter.
Santorini's blue domes and white cave houses rose up in my imagination easily, but Athens was another matter. The A in Athens stood for austerity, or at least, that was all I knew in connection to the capital city. Upon arrival, slightly musty from spending the entire day in transit, we gratefully grabbed seats on the Metro. Knowing that our host was kept waiting, I counted the number of stops to our Airbnb, one of my nervous ticks to kill time. Disembarking after transferring lines twice, we emerged hesitantly into the residential areas of Aglios Eleftherios.
After our host performed the customary rites of welcome, he offered us a deceptively clear drink, which I identified incorrectly as "Greek Vodka". Googling later, I realised it was called Ouzo. Sipping gingerly, I decided Ouzo or not, shots don't agree with me.
A good night's sleep left us well-recuperated. Our spirits restored, we left the apartment at 10, after one false start and two pre-packaged slices of toast. In the day, the landmark-less roads became easy to navigate and we soon found ourselves back at the station. Looking around on the train, I properly noticed the camo-clad bodies and stoic faces for the first time. I hesistate to say that austerity has cast a long shadow now that we no longer hear about the Greek economy in the news, but if any adjective could describe the loose conglomeration of commuters, it would be 'austere'. That night, I confirmed this, when we stuck to our host's recommendations of turning on the water heater for only 15 minutes, only to discover the rude shock that barely twenty minutes had elapsed before we were left chilled to the bone in the shower. It was almost like being in the military... and having to ration water and time.
Writing this after a 9-6 day of winter school, what is still the freshest in my mind is Feyrouz, the finest Lebanese take-out that you can find in Monastiraki, the city centre. With Google reviews our pocket-sized, pixel-friendly guide, we found ourselves in the queue, scanning recent entries on Trip Advisor from satisfied customers, before glancing at the menu to make up our minds. Suffice to say that everything sounded tasty, but we eventually went with basamati rice with shredded chicken, two unremarkable desserts, and the creamiest, most savoury red lentil soup. It was so good that it had us coming back again, picking up a rooster pizza boat the day after, and two Armenian pizzas to go for our ferry ride. The sensations that food evokes long after you've had a good meal linger on, and looking at our naturally-lit food fresh off the stove, it's almost as if my eyes are devouring it again.
A meme that's been making its rounds on the Internet goes like this: "My favourite Greek Ruins". You have a few pillars, possibly Ionic, that look ambiguously like the Parthenon and its surrounding sisters. And then... you have the Greek Economy. In fact, I was more taken up with austerity than anything else. With most of the marble pillaged or destroyed in war, and limited restoration efforts, the crowning jewel of the Acropolis was not much of a sight to behold. I preferred the Acropolis Museum itself, with its detailed descriptions of what was happening in the panels and the broken fragments. Multiple cavity-eyed Kores stared me down, smiling benignly, completely unlike the maidens I imagined, built in the image of Kore/Persephone/the doe-eyed Goddess of Flowers. Back when I read fanfiction, the outline of the man of my dreams was already taking shape in the form of Hades. Thinking about it now, it's embarassing that I idealised what was clearly a non-consensual, unequal, May-December relationship, but the mercurial mystery man that captivated my teenage self still hangs around somwhere at the back of my head. Maybe one day, I'll link him up with the real deal.
After our brief historical incursion, we took the afternoon off to explore downtown Athens by foot. Having passed by the Central Market on the first day, when strikes brought the metro to a halt and walking was the only way about town, we decided to check it out. Provision shops proudly displayed pistachios and apple tea, in jars and by the handful. Prices were slashed, the fishmongers hawked, and I still try to unsee the sight of a dead pig's head. Before we knew it, we had reached the other side of the market, and had strayed into the boho district of Plaka. Pretty in pastel and pasteurised for the tourists, it made for a pleasant stroll.
After an afternoon spent recharging (both our devices and ourselves) in Cafe Plaka, it was time for dinner. A quick meal of gyros cost us two euros, a mere fraction of what we had paid earlier for our cappucinos. Bracing ourselves for an early start for Santorini, we headed back to our apartment, ready for the second leg of our Grecian get-away.
Santorini's blue domes and white cave houses rose up in my imagination easily, but Athens was another matter. The A in Athens stood for austerity, or at least, that was all I knew in connection to the capital city. Upon arrival, slightly musty from spending the entire day in transit, we gratefully grabbed seats on the Metro. Knowing that our host was kept waiting, I counted the number of stops to our Airbnb, one of my nervous ticks to kill time. Disembarking after transferring lines twice, we emerged hesitantly into the residential areas of Aglios Eleftherios.
After our host performed the customary rites of welcome, he offered us a deceptively clear drink, which I identified incorrectly as "Greek Vodka". Googling later, I realised it was called Ouzo. Sipping gingerly, I decided Ouzo or not, shots don't agree with me.
A good night's sleep left us well-recuperated. Our spirits restored, we left the apartment at 10, after one false start and two pre-packaged slices of toast. In the day, the landmark-less roads became easy to navigate and we soon found ourselves back at the station. Looking around on the train, I properly noticed the camo-clad bodies and stoic faces for the first time. I hesistate to say that austerity has cast a long shadow now that we no longer hear about the Greek economy in the news, but if any adjective could describe the loose conglomeration of commuters, it would be 'austere'. That night, I confirmed this, when we stuck to our host's recommendations of turning on the water heater for only 15 minutes, only to discover the rude shock that barely twenty minutes had elapsed before we were left chilled to the bone in the shower. It was almost like being in the military... and having to ration water and time.
Writing this after a 9-6 day of winter school, what is still the freshest in my mind is Feyrouz, the finest Lebanese take-out that you can find in Monastiraki, the city centre. With Google reviews our pocket-sized, pixel-friendly guide, we found ourselves in the queue, scanning recent entries on Trip Advisor from satisfied customers, before glancing at the menu to make up our minds. Suffice to say that everything sounded tasty, but we eventually went with basamati rice with shredded chicken, two unremarkable desserts, and the creamiest, most savoury red lentil soup. It was so good that it had us coming back again, picking up a rooster pizza boat the day after, and two Armenian pizzas to go for our ferry ride. The sensations that food evokes long after you've had a good meal linger on, and looking at our naturally-lit food fresh off the stove, it's almost as if my eyes are devouring it again.
A meme that's been making its rounds on the Internet goes like this: "My favourite Greek Ruins". You have a few pillars, possibly Ionic, that look ambiguously like the Parthenon and its surrounding sisters. And then... you have the Greek Economy. In fact, I was more taken up with austerity than anything else. With most of the marble pillaged or destroyed in war, and limited restoration efforts, the crowning jewel of the Acropolis was not much of a sight to behold. I preferred the Acropolis Museum itself, with its detailed descriptions of what was happening in the panels and the broken fragments. Multiple cavity-eyed Kores stared me down, smiling benignly, completely unlike the maidens I imagined, built in the image of Kore/Persephone/the doe-eyed Goddess of Flowers. Back when I read fanfiction, the outline of the man of my dreams was already taking shape in the form of Hades. Thinking about it now, it's embarassing that I idealised what was clearly a non-consensual, unequal, May-December relationship, but the mercurial mystery man that captivated my teenage self still hangs around somwhere at the back of my head. Maybe one day, I'll link him up with the real deal.
After our brief historical incursion, we took the afternoon off to explore downtown Athens by foot. Having passed by the Central Market on the first day, when strikes brought the metro to a halt and walking was the only way about town, we decided to check it out. Provision shops proudly displayed pistachios and apple tea, in jars and by the handful. Prices were slashed, the fishmongers hawked, and I still try to unsee the sight of a dead pig's head. Before we knew it, we had reached the other side of the market, and had strayed into the boho district of Plaka. Pretty in pastel and pasteurised for the tourists, it made for a pleasant stroll.
After an afternoon spent recharging (both our devices and ourselves) in Cafe Plaka, it was time for dinner. A quick meal of gyros cost us two euros, a mere fraction of what we had paid earlier for our cappucinos. Bracing ourselves for an early start for Santorini, we headed back to our apartment, ready for the second leg of our Grecian get-away.